


Bloodied hands and broken skin.

by Kiviuq



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Laundry, M/M, Stitches, Strangers to Lovers, im going to hell for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiviuq/pseuds/Kiviuq
Summary: It's 3 am on a Sunday morning and Daichi's in a laundromat washing practically every item of clothing he owns, when a bloodied man enters with a bullet wound to his waist and Daichi does the good thing and patches him up. Oh, and drinks his blood.Or the one where Daichi plays doctor and tried to patch up a bloodied stranger he met in a laundromat.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Bloodied hands and broken skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Daichi in his caring Dad role, and Suga in a not so motherly bad-boy rebel role.

It's 2am on a Sunday morning and Daichi can’t sleep. He shifts on his bedsheets and stares at the ceiling. A warm breeze drifts through the open window, and the ceiling fan creeps slowly around with no electricity. 

Daichi’s already had a coffee, and wandered through his flat twice over for no real reason. When 3am rolls around he decides to have a shower, the water is hot against his shoulders and leaves his skin steaming when he gets out, but he can’t seem to find any clean clothes anywhere. He pulls on his only clean pair of underpants, but that’s all he pulls on. _Everything else is dirty._ Even his emergency laundry-day clothes aren’t clean. 

Body still mostly bare, Daichi stretches his back and shoulders as he looks around his messy flat. There are piles of already worn clothes scattered around his bedroom, some strung unceremoniously across the bathroom floor, others decorate the rest of his flat, there's a shirt with a pasta stain on it thrown across the kitchen bench, a collection of mismatched socks piled by the side of the couch. His unwashed work suits are piled in baskets by the front door to his flat, awaiting the day Daichi finally decided to visit the laundromat. 

Daichi nose scrunches at the sight. He decides now is as good a time as any to finally get around washing them. _He’d need at least one clean suit for the office tomorrow._ He grabs another washing basket and collects his clothes quickly before he loses the motivation. He finds a pair of jeans under his bed, a pair he hadn’t seen in at least a month. When he realises they have cum stains on them, he remembers why he threw them under his bed in the first place. _Outta sight, outta mind._ Nothing like seeing his own dried cum on a pair of his favourite jeans thrown on the exposed floor of his flat, so at the time, throwing them under his bed was a good idea, because Daichi really, really didn’t want to go to the laundromat to wash a single pair of cum stained jeans. 

He throws them into the basket and, once his bedroom floor is free of clothes, he collects the rest from the bathroom and picks up the socks from the living room. He finds his long lost bunny slippers under the pile and slips them on. He throws out the pasta stained shirt, not bothered to spend the effort cleaning it properly. He plies the second washing basket on top of the one containing his suits, grabs a few spare coins, and carries them out of his flat. The door closes behind him, he leaves it unlocked and he takes the elevator down to the bottom floor. 

The local 24/7 laundromat was nestled into a corner on the ground floor of his apartment complex, so it wasn’t far to walk, Daichi was just lazy and hated going. There was a small cafe next to the laundromat, but it was closed. Joys of 3am laundry runs. Daichi groans. He’d kill for another coffee, especially one he didn’t have to make himself. 

He shuffles into the laundromat and greets the owner, an elder woman who nods at him happily before returning to her early morning reading. Daichi’s never seen the laundromat attended by anybody else, no matter the time of day. Other than himself and the woman, the laundromat is completely empty. He shuffles to a washing machine close to the front, bunny slippers scraping against the linoleum as he moves. 

He empties the basket of his office clothes, all button-up shirts and black trousers, because his blazers are still upstairs _somewhere_ , into one machine, and the basket full of his everyday clothes into another. He chooses the right settings and inserts the coins. The machines hum to life. 

Daichi turns around to lean against the machines. He can feel the chill of the metal against his asscheeks through the thin material of his underpants, but he ignores it. He fiddles with his fingers while he waits for his washing. Maybe waiting will make him sleepy. Moments pass. Daichi wishes he was tired. Wishes he could get any moment of rest, but he’s wide awake. And it’s only 3.30 am now. On a Sunday. He doesn’t have work until Monday. _Tomorrow._ That's a whole day of free time and Daichi can’t even do what he wants to do. _Sleep._ Ughh. 

The laundromat is silent, bar the sound of tumbling clothes radiating from Daichi’s washing machines when another customer stumbles through the door. Daichi turns his head, his machines are close to the front of the building, so he sees with no obstructions, the lithe man enter, his footfalls slow and clumsy.

His platinum hair is stark against the white lights and there are patches of red all over him. At first, Daichi thinks it’s paint, until he smells it, a sickeningly dry, sweet metal scent. _Blood._ It crashes around him like a wave, flooding his senses. The man doesn’t look up, keeps his gaze on the floor as he walks, no, _stumbles_ over to the machines. The suit he’s dressed in is torn all over, as though slashed by a knife. He stops a few machines down from Daichi with a groan and leans against a washing machine to keep his balance. 

Daichi watches him as he shucks off his blazer, dropping it into an empty machine. His white dress shirt is wet with sweat and blotched with deep red. There are slashes through it too, showing glimpses at torn skin underneath. The man unbuttons it and throws it in the machine also. Daichi watches as muscle ripples under bruised flesh. 

There’s blood clotted in the man's hair, his chest is heaving with deep, slow inhales. He braces himself on the machine with one hand, kicks off his shoes and undoes his belt with the other. The belt clatters to the floor, and the man curses as he attempts to shuck off his trousers. A groan fills the room, and blood splatters to the floor in deafening drops. Daichi can’t hear the hum of his own machine anymore, the only sound that fills his ears is the pitter-patter of blood splattering against the linoleum floor. 

There's a hole in the left of the man's torso, small, and deep red. The blood drips from it in a steady flow. Daichi can see it now. _A bullet wound._ Pulsing, bleeding, hurting. Pigmented swirls of watercolour bruises curl around it. The gentle discolouring purpled his milky skin, leaving behind shallow patches of deep colour. Dried blood decorates his pale skin too.

He stands there in only his boxes, and Daichi can see the entirety of his body. Toned muscle, unexpectedly well defined, ripples as he sways. His collar bones and hips are sharply prominent. His skin is covered in stray crisscrosses of pink scar tissue. Most look old, some newer than others. Fresh blood dripped from scarce, shallow lacerations, one through across his neck, another down his forearm. The flesh is a deep pink, and lacquered with gleaming blood. The man tosses his clothes into the machine and spits coins out from between his teeth. He inserts them and sighs in relief when the machine hums with water. 

Daichi is still staring, at the man, at the blood, at the _bullet wound in his side._ He doesn’t register when the man turns to him, honey brown eyes staring at him with a wild, vulnerable gleam.

 _“Can I help you?”_ Daichi jumps at the sound. His attention snaps up to the man's face. There's has a cut through his brow, and a scrape next to a purple turning black bruise on his cheekbone on the other side of his face. 

Daichi blinks. “I should be asking _you_ that,”

A small, toothy smile spreads across the man's face and he chuckles lowly. “It’s nothing, just a scratch.” 

“That’s no scratch.” 

The smile falls from the man's face almost immediately. He plants his hands on top of the machine in front of him to steady himself, but he still sways where he stands. When he looks like he might fall, Daichi reacts on instinct, scrambling over to catch his arm, and drops a hand around his lithe back. Thin corded muscle like warm marble tenses under Daichi’s hand. 

“Sir-,” Daichi starts, but he’s cut off. 

“Suga.” The man mutters. Daichi sends him a questioning expression. “Call me Suga.”

“You should get to a hospital, _Suga._ ” The name is satisfying on Daichi’s tongue. “There's no telling-“

“No,” Suga cuts him off. “No, no hospitals, no ambulance, no police. No.” He shakes his head gently as he speaks slow words. 

_But you’re bleeding out_ , Daichi wants to say, but he bites his tongue. Daichi tightens his grip on Suga’s waist and thinks for a moment. The old woman is still entranced in her reading, she doesn’t pay them any attention. 

“You need medical care,” Daichi insists. 

Though he works in an office, and despite the fact that he’s never had a wound worse than a paper cut, Daichi knows how severe wounds can be. Especially from the extreme exsanguination. 

Suga nods, whether in agreement, or by offset from his subconscious swaying, Daichi can’t tell. But he assumes the former, and drops his shoulder under the arm of the smaller man. He brings his free hand up to anchor Suga’s arm that hands over his shoulder. 

Daichi knows he has a medical kit in his bathroom, and he knows how to administer first aid, he’d undergone training for it as part of a mandatory work protocol. He knows how to treat minor wounds. He assumes it should be the same for a bullet wound. _He just has to stitch it too, right?_ If Suga insisted against a hospital, this was all Daichi could offer to help save him from death in a laundromat. 

“Come with me,” he speaks softly. Suga’s body is heavy against him, far heavier than Daichi first thought. _Must be all that solid muscle_ , Daichi thinks. 

Suga puts up no resistance, so Daichi leads him to the door of the laundromat, The elder woman at the front still bares them no attention. They shuffle out, Daichi’s bunny slippers still squeaking against the linoleum floor, until they reach the elevator. Daichi hits the button with his bare hip so that he doesn’t have to let go of Suga with either hand.

When the doors ping open, Suga stumbles into the elevator, and Daichi twists him around and encloses him in a bear hug to stop him from falling. One hand wraps around Suga’s waist, the other around his chest, still supporting him.

“I’ve got you,” Daichi tells him. 

At his words, Suga slumps against his body, chin nuzzling into the junction of Daichi’s neck. Daichi drops his shoulder instinctively to make it more comfortable for him. Suga’s hot breath tickles the back of his neck. Daichi shivers. 

The soft, shallow breaths is all Daichi focuses on until the elevator dings when it reaches the third floor. Daichi loops his arm back under Suga, and the two stumble to the door to Daichi’s flat. He kicks the door open, thankful he hadn’t bothered to lock it. They stumble through the door together. Blood pitter-patters as it continues to fall from the Suga’s wounds, leaving a thin trail in through the hallway. 

It's not warm inside Daichi’s apartment, but it’s not cold either. The windows still let in the gentle breeze of the night. Still, goosebumps creep over Daichi’s bare skin, and he’s all the more aware of how cold Suga’s _bloodless_ body is beside him. 

“Where-,” Suga begins, his face is turned to the ground. Strands of his platinum hair bounce as he moves. 

“My apartment,” Daichi answers, smiling when Suga hums quietly in response. “There’s a med-kit in the bathroom. We’ll get you patched up.” 

He faintly hears the ‘ _thank you_ ’ mumbled under Suga’s shallow breath. 

He leads the bleeding man through the hallway and past the living room. The medical kit is in his ensuite bathroom, so he shuffles them both to the end of the flat. Suga doesn’t question anything, just allows Daichi to lead him through with no complaint. Daichi wonders why he's so compliant, and figures it's the fatigue from Suga’s exsanguination. He kicks a bunny slipper to the base of the bedroom door and it swings inwards. 

The bed is unmade, just as Daichi left it. The sheets are crumpled on one side, and the pillows are strewn across it. His floor is clean at least, thanks to his insomniac boredom, not that he cared all that much. He doubted the tidiness impressed Suga, whose droopy eyelids obscured most of his vision. He clung to Daichi, not only for stability and warmth, but for guidance. Daichi doubted the platinum man would’ve made it out of the laundromat by himself, let alone to wherever he was headed. Daichi bites the inside of his cheek as he shuffles Suga over to the bed. 

“You should sit,” He says calmly, helping Suga down to the mattress. The shorter man flops down rather gracelessly, hissing silent curses. 

There's an ache in Daichi’s arms, muscles sore from holding up Suga’s weight. He stretches an arm across his chest. He asks Suga if the bullet is still lodged in the wound. The platinum man shakes his head and tells Daichi he got it out before he arrived at the laundromat. Daichi doesn’t press for more information. Not yet anyway. 

Suga’s eyes are closed, and his fair brows are furrowed on his bloodied face. His breathing is shallow, lips parted to take in each fleeting inhale. He rests his hand over the wound, fingers tentatively splaying over the open flesh. Daichi watches as blood still seeps through the gaps between his fingers. His bare body, bar the dark coloured underpants that hugs his crotch, is stark against the dark sheets of Daichi’s bed. There are no cuts to his legs though, no scrapes or lacerations. _One good thing_ , Daichi tells himself. 

“Who did this to you?” Daichi asks, stretching the opposite arm across his chest. 

Suga ignores the question for a moment. 

“How bad is it?” he asks instead, refusing to look down at his own wound. No doubt he can feel the warmth of the blood as it trickles over his cold fingers. Daichi doesn’t know if he ignored the question on purpose, or if he just didn’t hear it. He doesn't ask. Suga looks up at him, his gaze holds a point just below the Daichi's eyes. 

Suga moves to sit himself up straighter, crunching himself inwards but hisses almost immediately. The platinum tenses and blood trickles from the hole in his side. 

“Shit,” Daichi curses, "Wait... I’ll patch you up.”

He leaves Suga to sit on the bed, and quickly moves into the ensuite bathroom. There's a lingering warmth to the room, no doubt from Daichi’s earlier shower. He welcomes it gladly. There are fluffy black towels hung over the wall rail, and a matching bathroom mat taking up most of the floor space. The shower - bath combo is set abasing the back wall. 

Daichi rinses his hands in the bathroom sink to the immediate right, faint trickles of diluted blood washes away under the cold stream of water. He hadn’t even realised he’d gotten blood on them. Once he deems them clean, Daichi turns to the wooden cupboard set against the wall behind him, and crouches, knees clicking, to open the doors. He pulls the medical kit from the cupboards, the red plastic box vibrant in the otherwise white room and makes his way back to the bedroom. 

"Do you know how to sew a wound?" Suga asks him immediately. His pale hand still clutches the pooling blood from his side. He’s sat in almost the exact same position Daichi left him in, except he’s turned himself to face the bathroom door. He’s thrown the pillows up to the right end of the bed also. 

“Do I- _Yes_ I know how to sew a wound.” Daichi grumbles. 

He only had to complete _twelve_ digital first-aid modules for the office protocol. They were as good as in-person training, right? Right? Even if they weren’t as intensive as dealing with real-time first-aid emergencies, he’s all Suga’s got at the current moment. So for all intensive purposes, yes, he knows how to sew a fucking wound. 

He doesn't tell Suga that. 

He places the med-kit down on the bed beside Suga, and grabs a bowl full of luke-warm water from the kitchen before he sets to work. Suga sits quietly, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t offer information. Daichi pulls out cotton balls from the med-kit and dips them in the warm water before gently dabbing them against Suga’s skin. The thick blood dilutes as the water runs over it, and becomes thinner, runnier. It dribbles down the muscle of Suga’s abs and rolls off his body and onto the white sheets below. 

“Shit,” Daichi curses. He grabs the small hand towel from the box and shoves it next to Suga’s thigh. It catches the rest of the bloody water that runs from the other man's skin. Suga grunts, but says nothing. 

“Who did this to you?” Daichi asks again, tossing the cotton balls into a pile on the floor before grabbing new ones. 

“What’s your name?” Suga avoids his question, _again_.

“Sawamura, Daichi.”

Suga takes a deep breath, fresh blood threatens to drip from the wound on his exhale. Daichi doesn’t know much about the crime that goes on in the city. He works in an office, not on the streets. He isn’t an officer of the law, or a medic. All his brain is wired to know if numbers and figures. He’d never even heard of a shooting in Tokyo, let alone dealt with a bullet wound. Suga doesn’t answer him, and Daichi sighs a frustrated sigh. 

With Suga’s skin mostly clean, the small bullet hole in Suga’s side is more apparent on his waist. The skin is heavily purpled around the broken skin. The sight of it makes Daichi’s heart ache. He feels horrible, a sickening daze of remorse, regret for something he didn’t do. But it pains him to see Suga, a total stranger, in such pain. 

Silence elapses them, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Suga’s shallow breathing fills the space as Daichi organises his equipment. 

“Hold this,” he says, handing Suga the bottle of rubbing alcohol. The platinum-haired man opens his eyes lazily. He appears groggy, almost like he’s flat out drunk, but Daichi knows better. Suga shifts and hisses as he reaches for the bottle. Once he grabs it, he lays back onto the sheets, propped up by his elbows. Daichi reaches for the lighter in the med-kit.

“Who-”

“I instigated it, it was my fault,” Suga finally responds, although not to Daichi’s question. 

“ _Who?_ ” Daichi presses. 

“You don’t want to know.” Suga’s voice is stern, sterner that Daichi’s heard him speak so far. Daichi doesn’t bite back, no, Suga’s feistiness is keeping him alert, awake, and that’s what Daichi needs from him.

Instead; ‘Don’t move,” Daichi warns. Suga stills. 

Daichi’s finger flips, his thumb scrapes against the wheels of the lighter. It sparks as it lights, a miniature explosion in the palm of his hand. He holds it under the needle, the flame turning it red hot almost immediately, forcing the end of the thin metal to curve into a hook-like structure. He flinches as the flame meets the skin of his fingers but he doesn’t drop the needle, instead, he tosses the lighter back into the medkit.

The nylon threads easily through the eye of the needle. Daichi trims off about a meter of it before tossing the spindle back in the kit where it joins the lighter. He takes the rubbing alcohol from Suga, who hands it to him with a small smile. The platinum man’s eyes are heavy, and his breathing has slowed significantly. 

“Stay with me. Come on. ” he taps against Suga’s thigh, and the man hums above him. 

He daps the rubbing alcohol over the wound and the skin round. Suga kicks his legs, trying to help the rest of his body still; “Fuck, that stings.” he hisses. 

“This is gonna hurt more,” Daichi warns, nodding to the warm needle in his hand. He douses it with the rubbing alcohol and holds Suga's stomach flat. Daichi adjusts his grip on Suga’s waist and aligns the point of the needle with the opening of the wound. Suga holds his breath and bites his lip, but otherwise stays silent. He barely flinches when Daichi pokes the needle through the first bit of skin. 

Daichi splays his hand wider over Suga’s belly to hold still the skin when Suga’s belly continues to tremble. The platinum man breaths through his lungs, and not his belly, trying his hardest to keep still. Daichi appreciates it, he tells Suga so, and a faint pink dusts his pale cheeks. He stitches almost a third of the wound, dabbing damp cotton balls at trickling blood occasionally, when his thumb brushes past the edge of the bullet hole. 

A gasp escapes Suga at the sudden pressure and he throws his head back, long lines of his neck exposed as he worries his lower lip between his teeth as he exhales. Daichi holds the air tightly inside his lungs, scared he caused more pain to Suga. He doesn’t expect Suga’s encouragement to the added pressure. 

“Yes~” Suga whimpers. His breathing is faster now. 

“You-”

Suga lifts his head slowly, “Do that again,” 

There's a fire in his eyes, a spark of life. _No, that's way too cliche_. It’s a spark of passion, of want. Of _need_. Daichi doesn’t expect it, and he sure as hell doesn’t know what to say. Suga just _moaned_ when Daichi _hurt_ him. Pressed against the bruise around the _bullet_ wound in his side. But for some reason, it wasn’t the same as when Daichi pierced the needle through his flesh. Daichi doesn’t understand it. No words form coherent sentences in his head as he states at the fiery chocolate of Suga’s eyes. 

Instead, Daichi presses his thumb down a little firmer to the purpled skin around the jagged flesh. 

“Fuck-“ Suga moans, he throws his head back again. His elbows dig into the sheets beneath him. His chest arches towards the roof and his toes curl. Daichi looks at him with furrowed brows. But the long exposed lines of Suga’s neck hold his attention, and the heavy rise and fall of his toned chest makes Daichi’s own breathing quicken. The obscure display unfolds in front of him, and Daichi just rolls with it. 

He thumbs slow circles around the wound, gentle on the bruising, before something comes over him and he’s shallowly dipping his thumb into the wound. The needle is still in his right hand, occasionally tugging the twine connected to Suga’s skin when he moves. Blood pools around his thumb as he presses against Suga’s skin, before it overflows and runs down his abs to puddle at his navel. 

“Oh my God, annggh-“ Suga moans. His marble skin is stained red again. 

The red gloss coating his skin calls to Daichi, on some primal level, and he bows his head to lap at the thick blood pooling on Suga’s quivering belly. His thumb still traces delicate circles around the bullet hole, careful over the already stitched areas. He feels Suga drop his body back with a satisfied moan, head flopping against the pillows and the platinum man hisses as he moves his stomach but he brings his hands up to play though Daichi’s hair as the other man laps at his blood. The warm, bitter liquid floods Daichi’s mouth, his grip turns harsh, and a low, rattling groan pours from his throat. He drinks greedily, feels the blood's warmth pour down his throat to splash into his belly. 

There was no pain here, no violence. Only Suga shuddering beneath him, arching up, begging wordlessly for more because he trusts Daichi, for some unknown reason, to take just enough from him. To take care of him, take away his focus on pain, give him pleasure in this unique way. No one had ever trusted Daichi this much before.

It was _intoxicating_.

They stay like that for a long time. Daichi drinking down every drop of blood Suga would give him. A warmth spreads through his chest. Suga’s light tug at his hair, and the taste of him on his tongue feels like the only things grounding him. _He realises inviting a stranger into his home and slurping on his blood is the best decision he’s made in a long time_. There’s an increasing heat at Daichi’s crotch, and he’s suddenly hyper aware of the confines of his boxers. He’s almost uncomfortably hard, and he feels Suga’s blood dribble down his chin as he moans. 

When Suga’s grip in his clipped hair lessons, Daichi notices how sluggish the other man's breathing has become. He realises he should stop and, with way too much effort that should be needed, he reluctantly swallows the last large mouthful of blood, and pulls his head back, but the gentle weight of Suga’s hands in his hair encourages him to stay close. 

“Daichi-san,- _fuck_ , don’t stop.” Suga, pulled from his euphoric bliss, encourages weakly, his grip lessens further, his right hand falls by his side. 

“If I keep going you’re going to die from blood-loss.” Daichi licks away the last bit of lingering blood from his thumb before wiping his lips with his knuckles. Every bone in Suga’s body melts into the bedding beneath him. Daichi knows he’s weak, knows he added to that weakness, knows he contributed to Suga’s extreme exsanguination, but not for a moment does he regret his actions.

“Stitch me up then,” Suga mutters. He breathes in deep inhales. When he cranes his neck down at Daichi, his cheeks are flushed pink. 

Daichi shuffles around a little, sitting himself up again. The needle, still in his right hand, tugs the nylon thread, and Suga lifts his hips to lessen the tug against his skin. As he shifts, Daichi notices the firm length pressing against his grey boxers. Suga’s cock strains against the thin fabric of his underpants, not fully hard, but thick, firm, and _hot_ on his body. The sight doesn't do anything to lessen Daichi’s racing heartbeat. 

“You’re, erm-” Hard? Just as turned on as I am? Daichi doesn’t finish, he doesn’t need to. 

“Ignore it.” Suga sighs. 

Daichi obeys. He shuffles, as subtle as he can, to readjust himself. His hard-on would have been easier to cover up if not for the fact that Daichi’s only wearing a thin pair of black underpants. _Fuck. Laundry_. Daichi. Hates. Laundry. 

He drives the needle back into Suga’s skin, out again, and back in over and over, ignoring how loud Suga’s sighing breaths are in the quiet room, and how uncomfortable Daichi is in his boxers. Suga says nothing as he stitches, but his hand remains nestled at the junction of Daichi’s neck. His stitches aren’t perfect, they’re not evenly spaced or symmetrical, but they serve their purpose fine. Daichi doesn’t let it bother him too much. What does bother him is the warmth radiating from Suga’s body, and the strain of his boxers as Daichi works. No further moans escape Suga, but occasionally he gasps and bits his lower lips. His thighs squeeze together for the smallest moment. Daichi shifts uncomfortably, his own boxers tighten impossibly further as he watches Suga wriggle under the needle. 

Daichi doesn’t know what's gotten into him, but he finds himself staring at Suga’s face every time he pierces the man's pale skin, taking in every hitched breath, every flutter of his eyelids. It all sends his blood south. He finished the final few stitches until he’s finally able to tie a knot in the nylon thread. Daichi cuts it and picks up the bloodied cotton tissues from the floor and drops them, and the needle, into the waste bin in the bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror when he passes. His cheeks are flushed and there's a thin layer of sweat coating his skin. His dick is undeniably hard beneath his underwear, no amount of shifting and re-shifting would be enough to hide that. 

He lingers in the doorframe of the bathroom, hips tuned to strategically hide his crotch. Suga is upright now, inspecting his stitches silently. 

“You shouldn’t consider being a medic,” Suga hums sleepily, when he notices Daichi. His gaze doesn’t leave his stitches. 

“My stitches aren’t that bad,” _are they?_ So what if they weren’t perfect. Daichi worked in an _office_ for Christ's sake, he barely even staples straight. 

“No,” Suga hums again, “But you drank my blood like a fucking vampire, you’d be fired on the spot.” he sends Daichi a wink. 

Daichi feels his cheeks heat up. He doesn’t know what to say. He’d never done that before. Never _drank blood_ like it was his saving grace. He doubts he ever would have done it if not for Suga encouraging persistence. Daichi rolls his eyes. He dabs antiseptic ointment on top of the stitches, just to be safe, before sticking a large white bandage patch to Suga’s skin. 

"That’s going to hurt like a bitch for at least a month." he adds. 

Suga groans, but there's a smile hidden under it. Daichi lets out a loud, jovial laugh. He grabs hold of Suga’s forearm, to inspect the laceration that runs down it. The blood has already begun clotting, and it’s not deep enough to need stitches. The skin underneath is pink with healed scars. Daichi wonders what Suga’s life entails for him to have all these marks. He goes to inquire, but stops himself. _It isn’t his place_. Instead, he digs out a few bandaids from the med kit, and begins covering up the minor scrapes littered across Suga’s body. One to his elbow, two to his left shoulder. A few to his thigh. He daps antiseptic to Suga’s forearm and bandages it. 

“Thankyou, I-“

“Don’t mention it.” Daichi waves him off. He sticks another bandaid to the scrape on Suga’s left cheek, and drags his thumb over it. There is a beauty spot above it, just under the outer corner of his eye. Daichi smiles as his thumb brushes it, and a silent blush heats across Suga’s cheeks. 

Suga stares at him, and Daichi notices now how close they are. Suga’s eyes are like warm chocolate in the dim light. Daichi wants to kiss him, wants Suga to taste his own blood, wants him to moan again. Daichi wants to feel the vibration of it. Almost as if reading his mind, Suga’s arms touch against Daichi’s hips gingerly, before he pulls the dark-haired man down onto his lap. 

“Fuck-“ Suga hisses, pushing Daichi back the tiniest bit, but his grip is still tight on Daichi’s hips. Daichi furrows his brows confused, he doesn’t know what Suga’s thinking. The platinum-haired man drops his gaze from Daichi’s face to peer down the white bandage on his abdomen. 

_His stitches_. 

_He pulled them_ , Daichi thinks, _but they’re not broken_. There's no blood staining the bandage, so he doubts the stitches ripped. Before he can ask if Suga’s okay, or tell him to be more careful, his honey eyes look back to Daichi and his drip tightens on his waist. He pulls him close again, slower this time, until Daichi is flush against his hips. Daichi’s knees bend as he straddles the other man's lap. 

“Fuck-“ Its Daichi’s turn to curse now. From his position on Suga’s lap, he can feel how hard Suga still is. It sends electricity down his spine, and warmth pools in his lower stomach. There's an uneasy moment between them, wrapped in delicate apprehension and lingering question, before Daichi is leaning forward and pressing his lips to Suga’s. 

There's an iciness to Suga’s lips, a faint cold brought about by his exsanguination, and Suga presses kisses to Daichi’s lips like he’s searching for warmth, his still warm tongue dipping into Daichi’s mouth. A moan thrums around them, Daichi doesn’t know if it was his, or Suga’s. All he knows is Suga’s tongue bumps against his and sparks shimmer in his stomach and Daichi wouldn’t have it any other.

He slides his hands up Suga’s side, careful over the bandages covering his stitches. He rests his hand above them, thumbing over the taut muscle at his ribs. 

They break apart for a moment, and he can feel Suga grin against his lips. Something feral festers inside Daichi at the gentleness of the wounded man. Daichi wants to hurt him, wants to mark him and bruise him. But he knows Suga is weak, is pained. A shudder wracks through him at the thought. So Daichi holds on to any control he can and focuses on pressing gentle kisses and soft nibbles down Suga’s neck instead. He presses his lips against the bandaid covering the shallow scrape on his neck, and a deep moan is pulled from the pale man. 

He feels the warm length of Suga’s clothes cock slide against him as he bucks up his hips and Daichi hums a wet, satisfied lick up the line of his jaw. 

“I want-,” Suga starts, stopping himself to muffle a moan against his wrist. Daichi hums contently. 

“Tell me,” 

“I want you to fuck me.” Suga’s honey eyes open around the sight of Daichi. “Please,” he adds, and he ducks his head to ghost his lips over Daichi’s, and whatever vestige of Daichi’s composure was remaining _shatters_.

Something snaps inside Daichi at the platinum man's words. He pulls back, and twists, laying his back against the sheets and pulling Suga on top of him. Suga inhales sharply, the abrupt movement startling him, but his lack of wincing indicates nothing hurts too bad. Daichi slots his thigh between Suga’s legs and presses against his straining cock. The lithe man moans, arching his back and grinding down. 

A grin meets his lips before he’s pulling Suga close to press small kisses along his jaw and down his neck, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. Suga trembles above him, weak arms trying their hardest so support him, and not send him crashing down on top of Daichi. His breath comes out in wrecked little huffs.

Abruptly, Daichi bites down hard on his neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a painful sting when he withdraws his blunt teeth. When he pulls back he laves his tongue over the mark, soothing it and revelling in the salty taste of Suga’s skin. A desperate sound is pulled from Suga, and his hips rock down against Daichi. 

“Is that what you really want?” 

“Yes, God yes,” The quiet, breathless tone lights a fire in Daichi, his rough hands grip Suga’s hips with bruising intensity, and yank them higher into the air. The shift folds Suga the slightest bit, and his arms give out under him. His chest falls down onto Daichi’s stomach. The platinum rests his head against his broad chest, and Daichi has to fight his quickening heartbeat. 

With one hand, Daichi slowly pulls down Suga’s underpants, peeling them down his toned legs. Suga shimmies his ass to help. With the other hand, Daichi presses two of his fingers against Suga’s lips. Suga looks up the best he can. 

“Suck,” Daichi says, voice stern in command. 

Suga is more than willing to suck the digits into his mouth, lips plush, tongue hot and eager. His eyelids flutter closed around Daichi’s fingers and a satisfied hum emanates from him. Daichi almost cums at the sight. When he pulls his fingers away, Suga’s pupils are blown so wide there is almost no colour left around them. He whimpers when Daichi kisses him again, that faint copper tang still on his tongue. 

He snakes his hand behind Suga’s folded body, and Suga gasps into his mouth when he fingers around the rim. Then he presses against the muscle, and Suga squirms. 

“Daichi,” Suga breathes softly as he pushes his index finger past the tight ting of muscle, and he snaps his eyes to meet the Brunettes. 

Suga’s body is tight around his index finger, but quickly loosens up. He adds a second finger, then a third, drinking up every moan and sigh that leaves Suga’s body. He’s rocking his hips back to meet with Daichi’s fingers when Daichi feels his middle finger brush against the nerve filled bulb inside Suga, and the platinum man jolts with a moan, tongue lolling from his mouth, hot against Daichi’s bare chest. Daichi aims for it again, and is rewarded with a blissed-out moan from between Suga’s lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” It's like a mantra the way Suga chants it. “Daichi-san, I’m gonna-”

“No,” Daichi pulls his fingers free from Suga’s hole, Suga hisses at the abrupt movement. 

“You wanted me to fuck you right, don't come until I do,” Suga’s eyes flutter shut and he nods desperately at the promise. 

Daichi shuffles down his underpants, not bothered to take them off all the way, and reaches blindly over to the bedside table, and yanks open the top draw once he finds the handle. The bottle of lube isn’t hard to locate, _since it's the only thing in the goddamn draw_ , and Daichi quickly uncaps it and lubes up his dick. 

He wipes off his fingers on the sheets, throwing away the thought that he’d wash them tomorrow. _Fuck. Laundry_. His fingers slide again down Suga’s body clutch at the junction of his hip and thigh, fingers digging into the worst of the bruises around the smaller man's hips. Daichi lines himself up with Suga’s entrance. He can feel the radiating heat of Suga’s body. A deep moan racks from him freely when the tip of his cock pushes past the tight rim. Suga lifts himself up on shaky arms and helps to sink himself down on the intruding cock with pleasurable moans. And then he stops with a sharp intake of air. Daichi panics for a moment, left hand rising to rub soothing circles into Suga’s hair. 

“Tell me when it hurts too much,” Daichi murmurs, “We can stop anytime.” He says it, but he doesn’t know if he _means_ it. 

Thankfully, Suga just shakes his head, bloodstained locks of platinum hair whipping side to side. “No,” he shudders breathlessly. He’s moving again, sinking, slowly, ever so _slowly_ , and Daichi has to fight himself to not buck up into his tight heat. 

Suga digs his fingernails into Daichi’s arm and bites his lip hard as he falls the rest of the way down on Daichi’s cock. His body is taut and straining to accommodate the cock in his ass. His hands splay across Daichi’s chest, blood had begun to seep through the bandages patching his body, his physical exertion splitting his healing wounds. Suga either doesn’t know, or doesn’t care. He just purrs from above Daichi, and a warmth swells in the other man's chest. 

They stay still for a few passing moments, and Daichi has to bite hard at his lip every time Suga convulses around him. He’s itching to thrust up into the pale body of the man above him, so he digs firmer bruises into Suga’s hips to distract himself. It’s Heaven and Hell all mixed into one. And then Suga is grinding himself down deeper onto Daichi, and the heat around his cock is enough to force him into action. He lifts Suga’s body, slowly in order to avoid pulling any stitches, and then drags him back down until he’s fully seated again on Daichi’s cock.

“Fuck, Daichi-san,” He whines, and Daichi really has to do something to shut him up or else he’ll cum to the sound of his voice alone. 

Suga tries to raise himself to set into a rhythmic bounce on Daichi’s cock. His long fingers grip at Daichi’s broad chest for purchase, at anything he could hold onto to support his weight as he shifts his body up and down. But it's too much effort, Suga doesn't have the energy, and his arms weakly give way. Before his head can fall against Daichi again, the brunette's iron grip on his hips keeps him upright, pressing deeply into the discoloured flesh below the bullet wound and a pleasuring shudder racks through Suga’s entire body. 

A whine vibrates through him, and Daichi’s cock twitches at the sound of it. _God, his voice would be the end of him_. 

“Daichi-san, please,” He breaks into a chocked moan when Daichi grinds up into him, “ _Fuck me, Daichi-san_.” 

Daichi shuts him up with another kiss, breathing him in, stealing away his air. They part from the kiss with a joint gasp, as Daichi drops the pale man back down on his cock. Suga’s heart is beating wildly, Daichi can see it rack against his ribs, hazed adrenaline and wild passion making him a disjointed, moaning mess. Daichi is the same, panting and dizzy with the lack of air. 

They settle into an increasing motion. Daichi’s grip on Suga’s waist hikes his hips up and slams them back down brutally, wildly. The slap of their skin rings in Daichi’s ears, and he can feel the beginnings of his orgasm creep through his stomach. He’d patch Suga up a thousand times over if he got the chance to be enclosed in this tight wet heat every time. His eyes squint closed and his mouth hands open

Sweat drips down Suga’s platinum locks and onto his forehead, stinging his eyes, his body telling him it’s too much. But Suga doesn’t bother listening to what his body tells him. He continues bouncing himself up and down on Daichi’s cock, head thrown black in blissed-out pleasure. 

Moans and groans fill the room. 

Daichi knows he should stop, slow down if anything to ensure Suga’s stitches don’t break. Heck, Suga should be conserving his energy, resting. Not giving Daichi the best fuck o his life. Daichi tells himself to slow down, to stop thrusting up into Suga with reckless abandon, but Daichi can’t stop himself, wrapped in the tight heat of Suga’s body, he can’t do anything but pummel into the platinum man. 

There are new livid red marks bruised into Suga’s hips, already starting to purple at the edges. They stand out against the other bruises that cover him, darker somehow, but far from angry. They’re marks of Daichi’s affection, there's no pain in them, just reckless and wild _passion_. 

Soon it all builds up to too much. Daichi can see the beginnings of orgasm rippling through Suga’s face. Suga’s cum splatters between them, and Daichi shoves himself as deeply as he can into Suga’s heat to unleash his own load. Suga’s chest heaves as they separate, and he sways slightly, trying desperately not to collapse. Daichi is quick to react when his arms give way, pulling the pale man to his chest and rolling onto his side so that Suga hits the mattress gently. His eyes are blown out dark, and a hiss escapes him as he unfolds himself to lie properly on his back. The bandage on Suga’s waist is stained with splotches of blood. Daichi notes to replace it soon, and check that none of the stitches have broken. But he doesn’t move, not just yet. 

Suga’s body is still cold against his side, but not as cold as before, the blood pumping faster through his veins helped to warm his body temperature. He breathes deeply, staring at the ceiling, before he smiles up at Daichi, with warm, honey brown eyes. 

Another hushed ‘ _thankyou_ ’ spills from his plump lips. 

Daichi wonders what happened, what brought Suga, bloodied and bruised, into his life that morning. But he doesn’t question it, no, Daichi never questions such a thing that makes him feel so good inside. He’d patched Suga up, helped him heal, and then fucked him with such vigor that undid all that healing and left him a wounded, blissed-out mess. It makes Daichi feel some sort of way, he doesn’t know how to describe it, but he won’t give it up, won’t give Suga up, for the world. His heart swells with affection for the stranger beside him.

All is quiet around them as their soft breathing fills the room in gentle huffs, before Suga jolts upright 

“Oh, Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth as the movement pulls on his stitches. 

“What?” Daichi grumbles sleepily. He sits himself up also, staring at Suga through stunted eyes in the dark “Are you bleeding again?” 

“No,” Suga shakes his head, “we forgot the fucking laundry.” 

_Fuck the laundry_ , Daichi thinks, _I’ve always hated laundry_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading xx
> 
> I wrote this based on a dream I had not long ago, but of course, added everybody's fave Karasuno parents. 
> 
> If you noticed any mistakes, feel free to let me know so I can fix it :) 
> 
> Ps. I get really hyped when I see kudos and comments so feel free to drop one about literally anything and we can have a chat …. stay safe loves.


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